


Nothing Like Flying

by Chiyume



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Autumn, Castiel's Loss of Grace, Crying, Crying Castiel, Ficlet, Graceless Castiel, Human Castiel, Humanity, Loss, Loss of Grace, Loss of Limbs, Loss of Powers, Loss of Wings, Mourning, Other, Playgrounds, Rain, Sad, Swing Set, Wingless Castiel, Worried Dean, playground angst, short fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-09
Updated: 2016-02-09
Packaged: 2018-05-19 08:27:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,195
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5960773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiyume/pseuds/Chiyume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Cas. What are you doing out here man?” He didn’t intend to whisper, but the words came out just above that of a breath all the same. The brittle silence that hung over the playground felt like it might shatter at anything louder than a gasp.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nothing Like Flying

**Author's Note:**

> Rewritten version of an old fic.  
> I just really wanted to write something sad and heartbreaking involving human!Cas on a swing set okay.

* * *

 

The dry leaves crunched mutely underneath the soles of Dean’s boots as he slowly approached the swingset. The rest of the playground had already been deserted; the children since long gone home to eat dinner and cuddle up in front of their television sets with the rest of their families. Safe from the quickly settling dusk that always seemed to come too early during this time of year.

If Castiel could hear him coming then he didn’t show any signs of it.

His shoulders were slumped, eyes staring emptily at his own, bare feet that had dug into the leaf covered ground below the unmoving swing. His entire body was still, seemingly frozen in place by the frosty November wind.

Dean could still recall a time when those eyes had looked at him with something that wasn’t pain—or a version of it—but that had been a very long time ago.

Too long ago.

The air was cold. Winter was drawing nearer, with sullen rainclouds trailing in its wake to gather together above their heads; pushing low and crowding them against the ground. Dean shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his jacket, pulling it tighter around himself as he felt an icy chill run down his spine, making him shudder.

Castiel on the other hand showed no signs of feeling the cold. Then again, he never really showed signs of feeling anything anymore…

“Cas. What are you doing out here man?” He didn’t intend to whisper, but the words came out just above that of a breath all the same. The brittle silence that hung over the playground felt like it might shatter at anything louder than a gasp.

Castiel didn’t move, didn’t show any acknowledgment to Dean’s presence whatsoever. Dean had to brace himself against the sharp sting of anguish stabbing inside his chest; the sight of those vacant eyes threatening to tear his heart apart.

“You’ve been gone for hours,” he said to the emptiness. “We’ve been looking for you.”

There was no answer—just the sound of the wind as it continued to shuffle dead leaves over the cold ground. The smell of rain was heavy in the air, and Dean could feel the wind pick up, tugging at the hem of his clothes. It wouldn’t be long until both of them got completely soaked.

“C’mon,” he tried, coaxing. “Let’s head back.”

He tossed his head in the direction of the Impala which was parked by the side of the road; the search for his friend having led Dean far from the motel where they were all currently staying.

He turned and took a few steps, anxiously waiting for the rustle of fabric and leafs that would indicate that Castiel was getting up to follow him, but it never came.

“I overheard a child talking to her mother today.”

Castiel’s words rang hollow in the clearing of the playground. The sound of them made Dean stop dead in his tracks, closing his eyes as if the darkness behind his eyelids could shut out the even darker shadow he could hear curling in the other’s voice. It didn’t help.

“She was playing on this swing set,” Castiel continued, hoarse and throaty; cold like the steel sky above them. “She was smiling. Her face looked… bright. Happy…”

Dean swallowed, fighting the thick clench in his throat that threatened to steal his own voice away.

“Cas—”

“She told her mother that she could touch the sky,” Castiel interrupted, and Dean’s jaw shut with a mute clench of teeth. “She said it was like flying.”

Dean didn’t want to turn around. He didn’t want to see the look on the other’s face, but his body didn’t obey him. He shifted slowly, turning to face the being that had once cradled him inside its very essence as it raised him from the fiery Pits of Hell itself; knowing that the sight which would meet him now would only be a broken, hollow shell of the glory that used to be.

Castiel was still looking at the ground by his feet, hands clasped around the swing’s chains so hard his knuckles whitened. His shoulders had gone rigid, bracing the body for a weight that wasn’t there.

Not anymore.

“She said it was like flying… but it’s not.”

There was a rough edge to his voice, but it held none of the rumbling power it once had. Instead it sounded weak. Fragile.

Broken.

Castiel bowed his head and Dean watched drops of something he knew wasn’t rain as they fell to stain the fabric of the other’s trousers, and his hands curled into helpless fists inside his pockets.

“It’s _nothing_ like flying…!” Castiel hissed; the words spat out through gritted teeth. He slowly raised his face towards the heavy clouds above them, and Dean so wished that he hadn’t been able to see the tears on his friend’s face. See the anger and indescribable loss that spilled from those eyes that used to hold more color that the summer sky, now dulled by so much pain it hurt to even look at them.

Dean felt his chest clench when that terrifying lack of blue suddenly shifted to gaze right at him. The helplessness it conjured pulled tight around his lungs and made it hard to breathe. The lump that had been forming in his throat suddenly felt as if it had come alive beneath his skin, trembling and squirming, threatening to choke him, and he felt so _useless._ So completely and painfully inept that a stab to the heart would have been a mercy in comparison.

The eyecontact only lasted for but a moment, and then dark tufts of hair hid the angel’s face once more as Castiel’s body sagged back down. His fingers turned slack and feeble around the frigid metal of the swing, apathy lowering itself over his frame like a thick, grey blanket.

“It’s not like flying at all…” he mumbled towards the ground. Dean had to look away, tears of his own burning at the corner of his eyes; worthless signs of empathy that didn’t mean a goddamn thing.

A whisper filled the air as thick, wet droplets began to fall from the sky onto the dry leaves around them, quickly growing dense and increasingly heavier, pelting the ground.

Castiel showed no signs of even noticing the rain.

Eventually, the downpour blended together with the wet streaks running down Castiel’s cheeks, but Dean could still see them nonetheless. He had a feeling that they were something he would never be able to unsee; the image stuck inside his head as if the sight of the former angel’s tears had been singed into the very inside of his eyelids.

The rain had almost passed over them when Dean finally managed to persuade Castiel to come with him back to the motel. Dripping, head bent and lips pressed together in silence, he sat next to Dean in the passenger seat of the Impala, staring down at his own lap in silence.

Even though Castiel didn’t make a single sound during the ride back, Dean still knew.

He knew.

_It’s not like flying at all…_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading, please leave a comment if you liked it.  
> Have a great day darlings! <3


End file.
